


but the rest kept turning

by pinkladyalex



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Coming Out, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kinda ish, M/M, Soooo much angst, a disgusting use of italics, no smut im sorry, there;s a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 22:46:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1916862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkladyalex/pseuds/pinkladyalex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is an art student and Louis is his muse.</p><p>(OR the one where Harry and Louis are in a relationship, but Louis doesn't want anyone to know except their immediate friends. )</p>
            </blockquote>





	but the rest kept turning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TurismoEmocional](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurismoEmocional/gifts).



> I FINISHED THIS RIGHT BEFORE THE DUE OH MY GOD  
> thank you to my lovely lovely betas, who i will not name right now, but thank you!!!!!!  
> also, I was told in the prompt, that this was based off an RP that the prompter did with someone else, so if you recognise it from somewhere, that's probably where!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This is all a load of bullshit.

Louis never should have looked at that damn painting

 

Harry was his life, his soul, everything he could ever want. Harry was his home. He was the best thing that has ever happened to Louis. Harry was a light in the dark of Louis’ life, a blooming flower in the dead garden that Louis had been trying to tend to for years. And Louis ruined it with a stupid painting. If he had only kept his curiosity at bay, left it alone. Let Harry be Harry and not let his stupid fears get in the way of everything.

 

Then maybe things would’ve turned out differently.

 

****

 

“Baby?” Louis asks, leaning against the door frame, chips in his hand. “Whatcha doin?” His boyfriend is working on his final project for the year - even though it’s only January - and has been secretive about it since he started it. All Louis knows is that it’s an art project that is going to be showcased at an event in March where almost the entire school attends, just like every art student from every year has had to do.

 

“Nothing!” Harry shouts, and quickly turns the canvas around and then goes to shove Louis out of the room. Louis pouts as Harry pushes him out and then closes the door behind the both of them. “You know you aren’t allowed to see.”

 

“Well now I know it’s some sort of painting.” Louis points out with a smirk. Harry rolls his eyes.

 

“I guess you do. Now when I tell you not to go into our room for a couple hours I mean it.” Harry insists.

 

“All I wanted was a kiss.” Louis pouts. Harry rolls his eyes again but presses his lips quickly against Louis’.

 

“There, now please leave me alone, you aren’t allowed to know anything about this.” Harry says, waving Louis off. Now it’s Louis’ turn to roll his eyes, but he walks away anyway.

 

“I’ll find out eventually!” He shouts back down the hallway. He hears Harry laugh as he walks away, back to their living room where he plops on the couch and tries to decide what to do for the next few hours that Harry is working.

 

“I’m almost done for the night anyway!” Harry calls. Louis feels elated at that, because that means he doesn’t need to try very hard and finding some sort of entertainment for the night.

 

“Will you make dinner?” Louis calls back.

 

“Maybe!” Harry responds. So that’s a no. He starts ruffling through the take-out menus, and picks out two, one for their favorite pizza place, and one for the chinese place. He then proceeds to take his cell phone and the menus and sit on the floor, with his back against his and Harry’ bedroom door.

 

“Do you want pizza or chinese?” He asks through the door.

 

“Chinese sounds nice.” Harry responds. Louis throws the pizza menu down and dials the chinese places number. He already know the order Harry is going to place, it’s the same every time they order from there, so he calls in the order, which is claimed to be there in forty-five minutes. He sits there on the floor, too lazy to move, playing 2048 on his phone, waiting for Harry to finish up.

 

Suddenly the door opens, and Louis falls backwards into the room, and hits his head on the floor. He groans, and he hears giggling above him. He opens his eyes to see Harry looking down at him, covering his mouth as he laughs. Louis glares at him the best he can from his place on the floor, and Harry laughs even more.

 

“I love you.” Harry says, suddenly really serious, with a small smile at the corner of his mouth. Louis smiles widely at him.

 

“I love you too.” Harry smiles, and then helps him off the ground, before kissing him deeply. They slot their lips together, and Louis’ arms wrap around Harry’s neck, and play with hairs there. Harry’s arms are wrapped around Louis’ middle, holding him tightly against his chest. Their lips move against each other slowly with a target of showing nothing but love. Harry slowly walks them to the bed, where they fall onto it, with Louis under him. Louis moves up the bed and Harry follows, bracing himself on his forearms next to Louis’ head. Louis smiles at him widely.

 

“I love you.” The older whispers. Harry smiles and leans back down to capture him in a kiss, Harry’s hands roaming Louis’ sides and into his hair. Louis nips at his lips lightly and Harry groans a little. It’s hot, but it’s not lustful. Harry moves down and begins sucking kisses into Louis’ neck, releasing small gasps from him. He sucks on prominent love bite right above Louis’ collarbone.

 

They’re interrupted by the doorbell ringing. Harry giggles and presses his face into Louis’ neck.

 

“Food’s here, love.” Louis reminds him, running a hand through Harry’s hair. The younger boy nods and gives Louis another short kiss, before standing up to get his wallet and going out to get the food. Louis is left sitting on the bed with a shit eating grin on his face. He is so, so in love. With this boy that he definitely doesn’t deserve. Harry returns quickly, kissing Louis lightly on the lips and setting the food down on the bed in between them. They both delve in, and Louis spends most of the meal just staring at Harry in awe, wondering how he got there, how he got to a place where this boy was _his_.

 

“Lou?” Harry suddenly speaks. Louis perks up around his mouthful of lo mein. He quirks an eyebrow in response and continues chewing. “When do you think you’ll be ready to come out?” Louis almost spits out his food. He chews and then swallows.

 

“Are you fucking mad?” He responds. Harry visibly shrinks and Louis immediately feels bad.

 

“S-Sorry, I just-I thought-”

 

“No, no, I’m sorry Haz. I shouldn’t have snapped like that. I just wasn’t expecting that question.” The older boy puts his plate down on the ground and scratches the back of his neck. “Erm... why do you ask?”

 

“I was just, wondering, I guess. We’re nearing our ten month anniversary and I want to take you out somewhere nice, somewhere pretty and _public_ , and I know you don’t really want that, but I just want to show you off, because you’re so fucking amazing Lou.” Harry says, even though half of it comes out in nervous whispers and he doesn’t meet Louis’ eyes until he says his name.

 

“Harry-I, you know how I feel about it. I just, I’m not ready yet. I’m sorry. We can still do something wonderful for our anniversary. I could even plan it this time. You know how much of a miracle that is.” Louis giggles, spinning some lo mein on his fork that he doesn’t completely intend to eat.

 

“I know Lou, I know. And no way am I letting you plan our anniversary. I already have something in mind.” Harry smiles warmly, but Louis could still see the hurt in his eyes. They had been doing this since the beginning of the relationship, when Louis explained to Harry that he wasn’t out on campus and he didn’t plan to be any time soon. Harry is just the type of person to not give a fuck what people think about such petty things as his sexuality, but Louis isn’t the same.

 

Louis’ always had issues with getting attention from people. Sure, he loves to keep a room entertained with his jokes. Sure, he could play Danny in Grease and not get an ounce of stage fright. But, but, it just _terrifies_ him to give people a reason to talk behind his back. He had enough of that in high school without being out, and he’s been able to lay low in uni so far, but he knows that if he came out there wouldn’t be all wonderful reactions. It’s not that he’s embarrassed of Harry or anything, he’s just worried for how he would deal with the backlash. He’s always been so sensitive about those topics.

 

Louis still leans over and kisses Harry quickly, making sure Harry is smiling and content when he pulls away. Then he grabs Harry’s hands and brings the fingers to his lips, kissing them, just to make sure Harry knows, _knows_ , that he loves him so so much. So much it scares the heebie jeebies out of him. (Oh god, let’s just forget he even said that.)  Harry’s smile shines so bright Louis feels like he’s looking at the sun. He’s pretty sure he stole that metaphor from Harry.

 

“Soon, baby, soon. I just have to stop being so silly.” Louis promises. Harry shakes his head and moves the food out of the way so he can sit closer to Louis.

 

“You’re not being silly. I understand.” Harry says and then presses a loving kiss to Louis’ lips. Louis smiles into the kiss, loving the feeling of feeling loved. It was all he ever wanted, and he had it but he didn’t completely understand why. Why Harry kept up with him and dealt with him even on his worst days.

 

“I love you.” Louis says when Harry pulls back. Harry smiles at him again, that special smile that only Louis sees. Or, that’s only ever directed at Louis.

 

“I love you, too. Now let’s clean up the food and put our bed to good use.” The curly boy says with a wink. Louis just rolls his eyes but continues to smile fondly. Any insecurities that had plagued his mind earlier were gone now, and he simply felt love.

 

****

 

Two weeks later, it’s their anniversary.

 

Louis has been begging and begging Harry to tell him what they’re doing, but Harry won’t budge. He just smirks and says, “It’s a surprise, Lou,” before going back to doing whatever he was doing. Louis always sighs and pleads, but Harry remains strong. (Louis is particularly shocked when his puppy eyes from around Harry’s dick don’t work. He knows then he really has no chance of finding out.) He even asks _Zayn_ about it, which, like, he never asks the other boys anything pertaining to him and Harry. Zayn just smiles at him and says he doesn’t know anything, but the way he was smirking Louis knows he lied.

 

So now it’s the night of their anniversary and Louis doesn’t know what to wear because he doesn’t know what they’re _doing_. He’s pulled on red skinny jeans because he knows Harry loves them, but he doesn’t know if he should go with a Tshirt or a button down. The white button down always looks good with these pants, but then again so does his black vans T shirt, and Harry loves both, so he’s just stuck.

 

He’s staring into the void of their closet and Harry’s lavender jumper is staring back at him as well. He knows Harry loves it when he wears his clothes, and light purple paired with dark red isn’t such a bad match. It’s also quite chilly outside, so he figures he could get away with it at a restaurant. He pulls it out of the closet and over his head, then looks in the mirror. It hangs quite ridiculously over his body, the neck line reaching low enough you can see the entire word what from his chest tattoo, and there has got to be an extra four inches on the sleeves. He rolls the sleeves up and adjusts the collar, then pulls on his toms and heads out into the living room where Harry had told him to wait before he left.

 

No matter how many times Louis had tried to convince Harry that they _lived_ together and that they could just _leave_ together, Harry always insisted on “picking him up” before they went out. It’s just one of his weird things, he likes Louis to open the door and for that to be the first time they see each other that day, and he always goes on about how special it is. Louis just gets impatient with it.

 

But he sits, and waits, putting on the telly and playing with the sleeves of the jumper to slightly ease his nerves. He doesn’t know why he’s nervous, but Harry never fails to make his stomach flutter. The knock on the door comes at precisely six o’clock, and Louis wonders how long Harry had stood out there waiting for the clock to turn.

 

“Hello.” Harry says as soon as the door is open. Louis gives him a once over, trying to gauge whether or not his outfit is appropriate. Harry is wearing a white T shirt and black skinny jeans, as well as a zip up hoodie that’s darkish blue, so Louis figures he’s alright. Harry’s eyes light up when he sees Louis is in his jumper, and Louis smiles.

 

“Happy anniversary.” Louis says, leaning up on his toes and giving Harry a kiss. Harry wraps his arm around Louis’ middle and presses into it, kissing him deeply with love love love and Louis is in heaven.

 

When Harry pulls away he smiles so wide, “Happy anniversary.” He replies, ending with another quick kiss before releasing Louis, but gripping his hand and tangling their fingers.

 

“So now are you finally going to tell me what we are doing?” Louis asks, raising his eyebrows as they walk out the door. Harry seems to ponder the question for a moment, stroking an invisible beard and swinging their clasped hands.

 

“Nope.” He concludes. Wonderful, just wonderful. Now he’s going to be stuck in the dark until they actually get to the date, which, okay, Louis just doesn’t do well with surprises.

 

“Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease?” He pleads, a very small attempt at cracking Harry. Harry just shakes his head and keeps moving.

 

****

 

Okay, wow. Just, wow. Of all the options Louis had run through his head, a secluded candlelit picnic was _not_ one of them. The small clearing has candles all over it, with a cliche red-checkered blanket sitting in the middle of it. It’s dark, and the stars are just that much more visible without the light pollution. Louis audibly gasps when they get there, and Harry just smiles widely, looking proudly at his set up. Wow.

 

“Wow.” Louis says. Harry smiles again, slinging an arm around him and pulling him close.

 

“Do you like it?” Harry whispers in his ear.

 

“I love it.” Louis responds, leaning his head back onto Harry’s shoulder and puckering his lips in silent ask for a kiss. Harry grants it, kissing him lightly, before taking his hand and leading him towards the blanket. There’s a bottle of red wine that Louis’ very excited about, he can’t wait to see Harry’s lips stained pinker than usual after a few sips. There’s a basket in the middle, what could be in it?

 

“It’s just sandwiches.” It’s always scary when Harry does that, when he says things just after Louis thinks it. It’s like they’re connected on a really odd level. Like Harry’s reading his mind or something. Zayn always says it’s because they’re soulmates. Louis thinks it’s just because he’s ten times more open around Harry.

 

“'Just sandwiches'. Shut up. You’re amazing.” _Too amazing_. he distinctly doesn’t add. Harry just grabs his hands and drags him into the middle of the open meadow, laughing brightly, and Louis follows after him, half expecting Harry to start spinning them in circles like that scene from the Titanic. But Harry just brings them onto the blanket, plopping down with his legs crossed and pulling Louis into his lap. Louis realizes he still hasn’t stopped giggling.

 

They eat while talking about nothing, really. Nothing important anyway. Most of the night is spent throwing food at each other and laughing, or cuddling close and sharing sweet kisses and sweet nothings. Louis constantly wonders how he got as lucky as he did, to have Harry there with him. After the sandwiches, there are little cupcakes that Harry made himself because, “It’s our anniversary, Lou. It has to be special.” Louis just rolls his eyes and bites into his cupcake, perfectly sweet. After the dessert Harry kisses frosting off his lip, and they end up making out laying down on the blanket.

 

With Louis’ denial to _have sex in a forest, Harold_ , they end up laying side by side, cuddled up looking at the stars. Harry presses a kiss to the top of Louis’ head and murmurs “I love you” into his hairline. Everything is perfect.

 

A flash of white across the sky has both of them sitting up abruptly.

 

“Did you see-” Louis starts, just as Harry begins, “Was that-” They break into giggles, the wine from dinner heavy in their systems.

 

“A shooting star.” Louis whispers, leaning close to Harry and pressing his forehead against his. Harry smiles at him and crosses his eyes to look into Louis’.

 

“Make a wish.” He shuts his eyes tight, thinking deep in his soul, I wish for this to never end, and just prays and prays Harry isn’t wishing for the opposite. When Harry presses a slow kiss onto his lips, he’s pretty sure he isn’t.

 

****

 

There’s hair in his face. Curly, brown, hair in his face. That’s the first thing he’s aware of when he wakes up. But then, wait that’s Harry’s hair, the hair of his beautiful boyfriend of ten months. Who would’ve thought Louis could ever be here. Definitely not Louis.

 

But the pressing issue here is that he needs to go to the bathroom, like, really really needs to go to the bathroom. Except, Harry is completely draped over him and sleeping soundly, soft snores leaving his lips in an interval that Louis is working on counting out at the moment. And then Harry shifts a little in his sleep, right onto his bladder and - right, bathroom.

 

He slowly removes Harry’s arms from around himself, and takes his pillow for Harry to cling to. Harry grunts a little, but ultimately accepts the pillow as a valid replacement and cuddles up to it. Louis tip-toes to the bathroom. When he’s there he relieves himself, and walking back he sees something out of the corner of his eye. Harry’s canvas... If only he knew what it was. If only Harry would just tell him what he was doing. No, no, Harry wants to be strange about it, he’s allowed to be strange about it. Except...Louis really wants to know what it is.

 

He walks over to the cloth covered canvas quietly, trying his hardest not to wake Harry. He knows he shouldn’t do this, he really shouldn’t, but he just wants to know. He’ll still act just as surprised when he sees it at the gallery in March. It’s February already, so he won’t have to keep the secret for long. What Harry doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

 

So he pulls the cover off the canvas slowly, careful not to let it wake Harry. As the painting comes into view, he realizes just how gorgeous it is. Its a swirl of colors at the bottom that slowly come together into a figure at the top. The figure is just as pretty, if it’s more realistic. It’s a boy, and he’s sleeping, tangled in the sheets of what looks like their bed. And then, wait, that boy looks a lot like-

 

Him. The boy in the painting is _him_. Harry is painting him and is planning on presenting it to the entire school. He’s painting him in their bed, most likely inspired from when Louis fell asleep after they had fucked. How is he supposed to pass this off as just another painting? Everyone will _know_. They all know Harry’s gay; of course they’ll assume it’s his boyfriend. They’ll all start searching the crowd for him, eyes landing on Louis, judging him because he doesn’t deserve Harry. They’ll say this to him, call him a fag and laugh at him, and then Harry will join them, ridiculing him and laughing that he actually thought they were in love. That he actually thought he was anything except a model for Harry’s project.

 

He slowly backs away from the painting. He grabs some sweatpants from his drawer and his phone and his keys, and then he runs. He runs and he doesn’t look back.

 

****

 

The first thing Harry notices when he wakes up is that the bed is cold. It’s cold which means Louis isn’t there, which is odd. Last night had a long -brilliant, but long- night for the both of them, and Harry is usually the first one up. Hopefully Louis hasn’t burned the house down if he’s attempting breakfast.

 

“Lou?” Harry calls out sleepily. He rolls over onto his back and sprawls out starfish style in the large bed. “Lou?” He raises his voice. There’s no response, and he can’t hear the shower and he doesn’t smell anything burning. Maybe Louis just went out to get something. Maybe they’re out of eggs. He gets his feet on the floor and pulls on his boxers, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes as he walks to the bathroom. Wherever Louis is, he’ll be back soon. He doesn’t leave for extended periods of time without sticking a post-it to Harry’s forehead with a cute little message signed _-Louis xxx_.

 

So Harry gets up and hops in the shower, washing his body and letting the hot steam wash off the remnants of last night. It was great, Louis had let him rim him, and he had come three times, the third one almost _dry_. Harry still couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe he had done that to him, and Louis was sated and happy and cuddly right after, so they hadn’t gotten the chance to shower, but Louis had worked up the energy to pull Harry off to a second orgasm because he came untouched just from looking at Louis-

 

Okay, so he has a quick wank while in the shower as well. Nobody needs to know.

 

When he gets out of the shower, he towel dries most of his body and fluffs his hair. Then he goes to the kitchen and pours himself a bowl of cereal. Finding no note about Louis’ whereabouts there, he shoots Louis a text just to check in. He doesn’t receive one back immediately, but he doesn’t worry. He’s gotten over his clinginess after Louis explained to him that sometimes he just needs time alone. Harry respects that, and lets Louis be during times like these. But he can’t say he expects it to happen the day after their anniversary. He was hoping to wake up and cuddle some more with Louis, maybe have some morning sex because they could, and then spend and relaxing day together. Louis apparently had other plans. He respects that, he does. He just wishes it was different, because it’s only been an hour since he woke up and he’s missing Louis already. He always does, can barely go a day without him, and liked to pretend that wasn’t true in the beginning of their relationship when Louis was slightly distant. He doesn’t pretend anymore.

 

He eventually does receive a text back.

 

_At Zayn’s. dont kno when I’ll be home._

 

It’s short and concise, and not like Louis at all. Harry knows Louis always ends his texts with two x’s, two kisses for Harry. He always makes some sort of joke, should’ve said something about Harry missing him already. Harry knows these things, and he knows something is up. He just wishes he knew what. But if Louis didn’t want to tell him right then, then Louis didn’t have to. He could wait for Louis to come to him and talk. He’s done it in the past.

 

So he takes advantage of having the flat to himself. He moves his easel into the living room and brings out all of his paints. He blasts his playlist entitled Louis throughout the flat and picks up his brushes.

 

The playlist consists of all of the songs he’s ever heard that remind him of Louis. It ranges from _Pour Some Sugar On Me_ by Def Leppard, to _Look After You_ by The Fray. He begins painting, letting the music influence the patterns of light he creates, and the shading he does on the bottom of the painting. It’s an abstract piece with a realistic top, the bottom a mess of colors and lines that eventually fade up and form Louis sleeping in their bed, tangled in the sheets. Harry has yet to color Louis’ figure, just an outline of it on the canvas in black paint and some light shading, but he focuses on the colors and lines and shapes of the bottom first.

 

A lot of dark colors are at the bottom, representing the beginning of their relationship when Louis was distant most of the time. It was difficult, but Harry knew it was worth it and never regrets staying around through that.

 

It slowly fades into the darker red colors, of the passionate beginning of their true relationship, when _I love you_ was a new term and sex was a must. Louis was still slightly reserved, but he also glowed like a flame when he smiled at Harry, and Harry knew he was so so in love.

 

The red blends to a purple, a more mellow color that relaxes him, that shows the dates they went on, moving in together, and Louis confessing that he wasn’t sure when he would be ready to come out, if ever. Harry didn’t have a problem with it and never did.

 

Red becomes yellow, the color Harry thinks represents the entirety of _Louis_ the best. Louis is sunshine, happiness, fire, and light, all in one. The yellow licks up the painting in stripes, before curving around the edges of the canvas like it’s cupping the image of Louis lying in bed. Harry finishes the last stroke of color before starting to shade where the light comes into the room. The sunlight angles so it’s perfectly illuminating the contours of Louis’ cheeks and forming shadows with his eyelashes. Harry tries his hardest to get every single line of shading correct, but he knows that it’s not possible. Louis is too perfect for Harry to give him justice on a canvas.

 

When the playlist stops playing, Harry realizes how long he’s been in front of the canvas painting. The playlist has a recorded four hours and change of music on it, so Harry puts down his brushes and stretches out his hands. He doesn’t even hear the door to the flat open because he’s still staring at the painting.

 

"H-Harry." Louis says from behind him. Harry rushes to cover the painting, grabbing a canvas cover and nearly spilling all his paints in his rush. "You don't have to do that." Louis says. Harry stops in place and turns to face him.

 

"Why not?" He asks warily, the cover still gripped in his hand.

 

"I already saw it." Louis admits quietly, after a moment of silence. Harry drops the cover and blinks in confusion. He doesn't know what to say or how to react to that. It was supposed to a surprise, Louis wasn't supposed to see it because it was supposed to be a /surprise/.

 

"It was supposed to be a surprise." He says quietly, slightly shocked. "When did you see it?"

 

"Last night. I looked while you were asleep." Louis _looked_ at the painting while he was sleeping? After Harry specifically asked him not to? Harry felt betrayed, because he never asked a lot of Louis but he asked for this one thing and Louis couldn't just _stay away_ \- "I would say I'm sorry, but I'm not. What kind of surprise would that _be_ , Harry? Surprise! We're coming out!" Louis says the last part with a sarcastic bitterness that has never been directed at Harry. Harry takes a step back, surprised at the brashness.

 

"Lou, I wasn't, That wasn't-"

 

"What did you expect? For all of us to be at the show and you would unveil this painting and suddenly I'd be okay with everyone knowing about us? Was this some kind of peace offering? You paint a gorgeous painting of me and suddenly I love you enough to give up that part of me?" Louis shouts, and starts rambling. Going on and on about things Harry would never do, never would even think of doing, and yet here Louis is, on the verge of tears as he accuses Harry of these things.

 

“I would never!” Harry finally shouts, effectively stopping Louis’ rant but not brandishing his glare. “I would never do those things. I wouldn’t out you like that, and I can’t believe you would think that of me.” Louis just stares at him. Harry isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say, how he’s supposed to react. This wasn’t supposed to happen, jesus, this was never supposed to happen. Louis arms are crossed and his lips are pursed and he looks angry, but Harry can read him like a book and his eyes are red and there are tears threatening the brim.

 

“Then what the hell were you planning to do with that?” Louis spits, but his voice cracks on the last word, giving him about. He rushes to wipe a tear that falls.

 

“I was _planning_ on showing it to you when it was done and asking if you were ready. I told you I was starting early for a reason.”-Louis nods- “That’s the reason. It was so I would have time to make something new if you said you weren’t. Because, hey, believe it or not, I care about what you think and how you feel.” Harry’s desperate, because no, _no_. After ten months of being together, this damn painting is not going to be the end of them. He’s reassured Louis of his feelings for him so many times, and this painting is going to wreck it, because the Harry’s world is laughingly ironic. Louis is still glaring at the painting like he wants to set it on fire.

 

“I don’t believe you.” He mumbles, and Harry just barely hears it.

 

“What?” Harry says, voice wobbly. Did Louis just insinuate that Harry doesn’t genuinely care about him?

 

“I don’t believe you.” Louis’ brittle voice repeats, higher in volume and pitch. He finally looks Harry in the eye, and he’s blinking back tears and sniffling but his arms are still crossed and he’s so closed off, but Harry can’t wrap his mind around that Louis doesn’t _believe_ that Harry cares about him. After everything they’ve gone through, after the original months it took for Louis to believe Harry loved him, he actually has the nerve to say he doesn’t _believe_ Harry cares about him.

 

“I-what? What!? You don’t _believe_ I would put your feelings into consideration? Seriously!? I _love_ you, Louis. I love you so, _so_ much. But I don’t know what you expect me to say.” Harry calms down a little towards the end, lowering his voice, but Louis is still staring at him, now openly crying but not seeking any comfort. “Maybe, maybe it was a peace offering. Because you know what, I’m sick of hiding. I’m _sick_ of not being able to take you out to a nice restaurant for our anniversary. I’m sick of you never being ready, of the fact that I’ve never met your sister, I’m sick of-”

 

“Me.”

 

“What?”

 

“You’re sick of me.” Louis elaborates. And no, _no_ , Harry could never get sick of Louis. No, that could never happen, ever. He’s just tired of the situation, of hiding Louis from everyone, of all of that- “It always happens. I’ll just go.” Before Harry can process what’s going on, or what’s been said or what happened, Louis’ turned around and the Harry hears the click of the door shutting.

 

He’s gone.

 

He’s _gone_.

 

Louis, Louis is _gone_.

 

And Harry breaks.

 

He falls into fetal position and breaks, cracks forming underneath his skin and tearing him to shreds, forcing loud, wracking sobs through his lips, and wet, ugly tears down his cheeks, because Louis is gone and he pushed him out. He glares at the painting through the blur of tears from the ground. If only he hadn’t made that, hadn’t gotten it in his head that it would be a good idea, how could it have been a good idea? He’s such an idiot. He screams out loud then reaches up and tears the painting off the easel, throwing it to the ground.

 

Some of the still wet painting on the bottom of it smudges, creating dark lines across the rest of it, and Harry loves it. He picks it up slowly and places it on the easel, before all but smashing his hands through the canvas in an attempt to smudge the colors around and ruin it, ruin the yellow, the light, because the light is gone, Louis is gone, and there’s no more light, there’s no light to be found anymore. The colors blend and turn brown and smudge over the image of Louis’ body and it’s so much more satisfying than Harry expected it to be.

 

He runs to the kitchen, loud sobs still bursting through him as he stumbles and grabs the end of a knife. He cuts his finger and it starts bleeding, but it blends into the pain sitting on his heart and he just lets the drips of blood join the drips of paint on the newspaper on the floor. He starts slicing at the painting, cutting through the brown color and the remainder of the purple and Louis’ legs and the damn window with the sun shining through it. What’s sun without Louis? He cries and screams with every cut and every piece that falls to the floor.

 

When it’s in shreds, barely hanging on to the wooden frame came on, Harry drops the knife and gathers up all the pieces. He grabs a metal rubbish bin and puts all the pieces in it. He takes it out on the balcony and takes a box of matches with him. In a moment of manic heartbreak, he lights a match and drops it into the bin. The flammable paint goes up just as quickly as he expected. The heat radiating from it burns, and he drops onto his knees, placing his head in his hand as he cries, cries, cries. His world stopped when Louis walked out of the door, but the rest just keeps turning.

 

****

 

The next week consisted of Harry laying in bed, just waiting for Louis to come back. Tissues surround his cocoon, left from when he starts to cry and needs to blow his nose. He doesn’t remember the last time he ate, although he thinks it was two days ago when Liam had come by and forced him to eat something and get out of bed.

 

“Harry, you can’t give up because of this.” Liam pleads, ripping the covers off of Harry and pulling on his ankle.

 

“I can and I will. I ruined everything, Liam.” Harry insists, voice croaky from disuse.

 

“You’ve missed all your lectures this week, and you haven’t eaten in days. Just eat something, okay? You don’t have to get out of bed, although it would be great if you did.”

 

Harry just groans and rolls over, but Liam makes chicken noodle soup and brings it to him in bed. So, he eats it and then listens to Liam tell him about his day (or, week.), talk about Niall, how he’s actually been doing his homework recently, and how Zayn is working on a new project for his photography class and asked Liam to be the subject of it, and he very directly doesn’t mention Louis.

 

“What about Louis?” Harry finally asks, giving in to his curiousity. Even though he really doesn’t want to know if Louis is doing better than him. It’s not that he wants Louis to be sad, but it would just make everything he’s feeling worse.

 

“Well, he, um, he gets out of bed. But other than that he’s the same as you, really.”

 

Harry can’t decide if that’s better, or worse, because he doesn’t want Louis to feel the way he feels right now. He doesn’t want Louis to feel like his heart is ripped open every time he wakes up and there’s someone missing beside him. But. But it does help him somewhat. It helps to know Louis hasn’t just moved on, that he actually is upset by all of this. Although Harry didn’t necessarily doubt that, it’s just- maybe he shouldn’t have asked.

 

“Okay.” Harry rolls back over and just stares blankly at his wall. Liam leaves soon after that, with a small click of the door.

 

It’s been a week since he’s had any contact with Louis and he’s dying. Every morning he forgets that Louis’ gone, and he expects there to be a warm body in his arms, but there isn’t. During the day, he turns on the TV to drown out his thoughts, but mainly he throws things at the wall and hears them crack. Always his things, of course. Because it’s his fault they’re in this mess in the first place. He cries himself to sleep every night, because he can’t sleep without holding Louis in his arms and the bed feels too big and empty and cold. He holds Louis’ pillow that still smells like him and cries until he doesn’t know when and then he passes out. Wake up, and repeat.

 

On the twelfth day since any contact with Louis, he gets out of bed and makes himself a cup of tea. The empty frame of the canvas still sits on the easel, and he grabs it and snaps it in half with a shout, then throws it into the rubbish bin still sitting on the balcony with the ashes of his original painting. The sobs come back, forcing loud, wretched noises from deep in his throat to tear out of him when he realises that he’s ruined his school project. And god, he shouldn’t be crying about that. But he is, because he can’t take any sort of emotional turmoil.

 

He takes another canvas and his paints and sets up his easel in his room facing his bed and he knows what he’s going to paint. Because he’s been missing it for over a week and that’s too long so if he can drag it up in his memory maybe he’ll feel better. It’s the only thing he’s got left right now, and painting seems to be the only way he can recollect it and feel better.

 

He starts with the white undertones, the cream colors and folds in the bed. Then he moves on and draws the outlines of two bodies intertwined with one another. The smaller of the two is resting on the other and has got their arm curled up on top of them. He takes black and paints around the outside, making the canvas look burnt and brittle, a sort of frame to the rest of the painting.

 

After painting and shading for hours, he steps back and observes it, paintbrush in hand.

 

It’s almost perfect. It’s his and Louis’ torsos, Louis’ draped over his as they usually slept. There are no distinguishing marks that would out Louis in anyway, nothing to point to him. It only feels like it’s missing something that Harry can’t place. It jogs his memory of what it feels like to hold Louis in his arms as he sleeps, and a tear slides down his cheek that he wipes away quickly. His final presentation is in two weeks, he can’t let himself wallow any longer. He needs to find what will make this perfect. Because if he doesn’t make it perfect, it won’t help him win Louis back.

 

****

 

He attends all of his lectures throughout the next two weeks. He goes to lunch with Liam and Zayn, who tell him about Louis and how he’s doing, even though he hasn’t worked up the courage to actually go talk to the boy. He thinks maybe he should, maybe that’s where the answer to his painting lies, but he can’t do it. Because he wants the art show to be the first time they see each other. It will be more romantic, and Harry’s nothing if not a hopeless romantic.

 

He searches through his notebooks, the internet, his art lectures, _everywhere_ , waiting for the answer to come to him. The painting remains on his easel for the entire ten days he’s searching, sitting in the bedroom while he studies it and looks at it while searching, searching, searching. Because he knows it’s missing something, he just doesn’t know what, and he’s damn determined to find it.

 

It comes to him in a dream, really. No matter how dramatic that sounds, it does. It’s rare he doesn’t dream about Louis these days, and sometimes it’s the worst dreams, where Louis shouts at him and ruins it yet again and they break up for good. But sometimes it’s the best dreams, where they’re sleeping in the same bed again, and Louis is holding on to him tightly. He wakes up from those in tears when he realises they weren’t real, but it’s much better than them breaking up, even in dream world. During one of the good dreams, Harry reaches down to grab onto Louis’ hand, and there’s an anchor tattooed on his wrist. When Louis grasps his, he notices a rope wrapped around his wrist.

 

He wakes up from that with an epiphany. He goes into one of the oldest boxes in the flat, one they never unpacked when they moved in four months ago. He digs to the bottom and finds his old sketch journal, where in the beginning of their relationship he used to sketch matching tattoos they could get. He loves how their bodies always align perfectly, and has always dreamt of turning it into his greatest art piece. He knows, when he flips through those pages, that _that’s what’s missing._

He grabs his paints and the journal in a rush almost running back to his room and taking his rightful place in front of the easel. He starts at the wrists, painting the rope and anchor tattoos and then moves up, painting tattoos across their arms like birds and ships and compasses. the anatomical heart on his arm is perfectly align with Louis’ actual heart. Louis has a moose from the restaurant they went on their first date to. The moth on his chest represents the butterflies in his tummy, and it couldn’t feel anymore right.

 

When he steps back, allowing his eyes to adjust after two hours of being up close and painting detailed, detailed, items on his own skin, he can tell the painting is perfect. The tattoos were exactly what was missing, that aligned the bodies perfectly and showed the love even more. It represents everything HarryandLouis represent in Harry’s mind. It represents the rest of his life.

 

“Louis.” He whimpers, and starts to cry again, because how couldn’t he. He’s staring at a painting of him and his lover, when he hasn’t seen or spoken to him in almost a month. Four days, though. It’s only four days and then everyone can see the painting, he can see Louis, and everything will (hopefully) be right again. (He tries to forget that he’s only hoping at this point.)

 

****

 

On the day of the art show, Zayn is dragging Louis out of bed. It’s been a rough month without Harry for him, Zayn knows, because Louis spent most of it crying. He skipped most of his classes for most of the first two weeks, but Zayn had dragged him to those as well. But he had decided he was not going to this art show. He is not. Because that means seeing Harry who he hasn’t seen in almost a month, and even if he’s been dying to see him, he doesn’t want it to be like this. In a forced public setting where Harry will probably have another boy on his arm, and Louis will have to smile and pretend to be happy. He’s not going.

 

“You’re going.” Zayn insists, dragging on his foot and ripping the blankets off of him.

 

“I’m not.” Louis insists, pulling his foot back and rolling over, away from Zayn.

 

“You have to.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because you haven’t left this apartment for anything except food and classes recently and I’m worried! I know this has been hard for you, I do. But if you aren’t even sure if you and Harry have broken up, and you won’t talk to him, then what is this going to fix?” Zayn pleads. Louis glares at him. Stupid Zayn, and his logic.

 

“Stop using your logical powers on me.” Louis grumbles, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

 

“That’s the spirit. It’s in two hours, let’s go. You don’t even have to talk to him if you don’t want. But he’s probably going to want to talk to you, so.” Zayn trails off. Louis shrugs.

 

“Is there tea?”

 

“In the kitchen, on the table, made the way you like it.” Zayn smiles.

 

“I love you.”

 

“Love you too.”

 

Louis rolls his eyes but goes to get his tea anyway. After drinking his tea, he goes to shower. Once he’s squeaky clean and ready to roll, he sets out on finding the perfect outfit. If he’s going to see Harry again, he might as well look good, because he has to make Harry feel bad for at least _something_. Even if it’s just the fact that he doesn’t get to tap Louis’ ass anymore.

 

He ends up picking out his tightest black jeans that make his ass look the most fuckable it can. He steals one of Zayn’s tank tops to show off his arms. (He does have the third biggest biceps in their small group of friends. Even if that’s out of five, he takes pride in being average.) He pulls on a maroon beanie and meets Zayn at the door. He knows he looks good, he just hopes he looks good enough for Harry to want him again.

 

Getting into the art show is a hassle. They have to show their student I.D. and of course Louis forgot his, so he has to plead with the entry person to let him in on time. He was against going at first, but now he’s gotten out of bed and dressed and pulled himself into these jeans, and god dammit he’s going to see the person he came here to saw. Even if they don’t talk, it’ll be nice to see if his eyes are as sunken in as Louis’. Because Louis knows even if his body looks great right now, his face hasn’t been right since he walked out on Harry.

 

Somehow he and Zayn get seats in the front row. It’s all the way to the right, and they are separated by a stranger, but it is in the front row. Usually the show is about two hours, each of the graduating art students getting a two minute time limit to present their piece. Some get longer, if they did a video piece, but it’s never too long. Louis’ gone every year, and last year he went with Harry. It was actually the first date, which is just another thing on the list of reasons he didn’t want to come tonight.

 

Everybody claps after every student, pieces of sculpture, paintings, and even jewelry being presented. Some of them are much, much better than others, Louis notes. Zayn claps and nods along, sometimes tapping Louis on the leg when he sees something in particular he likes. Louis finds it hard to focus when he knows Harry will be coming out any second. He just prays to god Harry doesn’t have any sort of grudge against him. He prays to god he doesn’t use his original painting.  

 

And then, he’s walking out. Harry’s walking on stage, and easel in hand, and a canvas in the other. Louis gulps, and waits. Harry walks to front of the stage, and isn’t he gorgeous? The lights hit him perfectly and the headband holding his hair back lets everyone see the perfect lines of his cheekbones, his supple lips. Louis is entranced and he knows the point of this was to make Harry regret everything, but now he’s starting to. He starts wishing he had never walked out the door of their flat. Wishing he had waited to talk to Harry like Zayn had said.

 

_“Just go back and get some clothes. If he’s there say you’re staying at mine for a few nights because you need some space and you’ll talk to him when you’re ready. You need to think about this Louis, you need to gather your thoughts.”_

_“Yeah, Zayn. Okay. That, that makes sense. Out of everything going on that actually makes sense.”_

 

Harry reveals the painting. It’s beautiful. Louis knows it’s him, he does, but no one else would. The tattoos are drawings he recognises from one of Harry’s old sketchbooks. They’re laying there in their bed, like they used to sleep, Louis’ head rested on Harry’s shoulder, his arm wrapped around him, and Harry's arms wrapped around Louis. The burnt looking edges make it look somewhat dark, but all Louis sees is love. He loves that boy.

 

“The name of this paint is _aguantare_.” Harry says into a microphone- when did he get a microphone? “It means, ‘I will wait or bear through’ in Spanish. The inspiration for this painting comes from someone I love dearly. Recently, I did something very dumb, stupid, and idiotic, and it landed us in an awful place.” All Louis knows is that Harry didn’t do anything dumb. He knows he was angry, and he was, there were good reasons too, but he can’t think of any now. Because Harry is blaming himself for everything, and no, it’s not Harry’s fault at all. “But I know we will pull through, I have faith we will. Because I know for a fact that I love him more than he loves himself, and more than he could ever love me. More than anyone could ever love anyone else, actually.” Harry chuckles, and Louis is pushing up out of his seat. Zayn grabs his arm when he passes him.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“I don’t even know. I’ll figure it out when I get up there.” Louis replies, and then he’s running. But he’s not running away anymore. He isn’t, because he couldn’t stay away from his boy if he tried.

  
“So yeah, that’s my painting. I hope he’s here, I hope he’s listening.” Harry finishes, and the crowd gives him a standing ovation. Louis runs, runs, and he bursts up on the stage just as Harry is grabbing his painting and closing his easel. He runs into his arms, and Harry drops everything with a huge smile and picks Louis up, spinning him in a circle. Louis throws his head back and laughs, and the school is cheering, but he can’t see anything except Harry. Louis leans down and captures his lips in a kiss, holding Harry’s head in his hand, and is slowly lowered to his feet as Harry kisses back. Their world stops in that moment, in a pause, because they know this is forever, they know now, it’s the rest of their lives. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! i hope you liked it, kudos and comments are always appreciated of course. :D
> 
> Also, I'm thinking about doing a prequel/sequel (or both) so comment if you'd be interested in one or both f those!


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